


The Shield-maiden and the Brigand

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He writes the new serials for her, though he never outright says so – just a bit of fun, with her as the protagonist and some dishy guy as her interest. But it keeps the Seeker happy, and a happy Seeker means Varric is less likely to be shouted at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He writes the new serials for her, though he never outright _says_ so – just a bit of fun, with her as the protagonist and some dishy guy as her interest. And it works – Cassandra gushes at great length about Alessandra the shield-maiden, will of iron and heart of gold, and reads them as quickly as he can write them. And, of course, he throws the others in, because what else are friends for? The Inquisitor laughs when she makes an appearance with her ‘champion’ in tow, and Cullen goes red because he thought their secret was a little better-kept than that. But it keeps the Seeker happy, and a happy Seeker means Varric is less likely to be shouted at.

 

*

He does not realise for the longest time, because the world was falling apart and he _had_ just lost his best friend and, quite frankly, he suddenly seems to be a terribly busy guy. They _all_ were, what with the imminent threat of the end of the world looming over them. But it happens eventually, as all realisations do.

He finds himself writing a passage that just doesn’t fit with the rest of the book. The tone is sweet and cloying and he is not entirely sure where it came from, and – _well shit_ , he thinks, _I didn’t even_ _ **pretend**_ _it_ _wasn’t_ _Cassandra, I actually wrote her name, ridiculous._ And he starts to crumple it up, and… stops. And flattens out the paper, rereading it. And he is quite sure he never meant for the love interest of the shield-maiden to sound so… _personal_ , but there it is. In black and white. The man he wishes he was, and the woman he started this whole mess for, in love.

And isn’t that the biggest practical joke this side of the bloody _Fade_? That he, Varric Tethras, would realise that perhaps Bianca wasn’t worth holding a candle for anymore, that perhaps life really _was_ too short to settle for less, that maybe the Seeker…

The character started out as a dashing man, someone he thought Cassandra deserved, because he liked the look on her face when she read about him – and then the character slowly developed, it seemed, more and more into what _he_ would do, what _he_ would say if a woman like that were his. He’d only written the dwarf part as a joke but… _well, if the boot fits…_

 

*

They are out in the Hinterlands, on some ridiculous errand, when she asks.

“Varric, why does Alessandra even bother with the brigand? Their meeting was a little… contrived.”

He manages a chuckle. “Oh, he has his charms, Seeker.”

"But she _clearly_ finds him frustrating and…”

The Inquisitor sighs loudly. “Cassandra, there’s a fine line between love and hate. _Everyone_ knows that the stuff you find irritating in a person is usually the stuff you end up loving about them.”

She mulls this over for a while, before proclaiming that the relationship was still perplexing. Varric tries not to think about it.

 

*

And then he stops writing. Because he does not want to think about how the plot is actually going to end up. He does not want to write that ridiculously happy ending for them, because neither of them are going to get one in real life, _surely_.

And Cassandra sulks for DAYS after she asks him when the next serial is coming out and he shrugs, explaining that the spark has gone and he does not see the point in writing that idea anymore, and quite frankly she looks cute as anything (and _why does he think that WHY_ ) but he feels… bad. Pit in the stomach bad. And doesn’t _that_ just take the biscuit?

So he writes, and he doesn’t _mean_ for it to become obvious, but in the end, the final book becomes a love letter - to her, to the idea of them, to a life that he knows he will never have, _could_ never have, even if she realised just who that handsome dwarf really was. It is, he realises, probably the greatest thing he has ever written. And he gives her the book and she all but hugs him in her excitement, and she scurries away to read, too distracted to see his shoulder slump and his smile fade.

 

*

He should have proofed the last pages. He knows he should have – he normally  _would_ have, but for an audience of less than ten it did not seem worthwhile. Big mistake.

She finds him in the grand hall, dragging him out of his seat and into the atrium where Solas usually skulks – though thankfully he is absent.

“All this time – all this time and you were _laughing_ at me!”

Varric pulls his lapel free from her grip. “What are you talking about?”

“Your book, your _stupid_ books about the shield-maiden and the rogue -”

“That I wrote because _you_ kept pestering me!”

“- the last page, her name changed! All this time, Alessandra was _really_ Cassandra!” She shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. He could swear her eyes were shining, and suddenly he feels like the jig is up and he is not going to leave this conversation with any shred of dignity.

“I assumed that we – that our relationship was past the ugliness. Perhaps even to a level of respect. But you… are mocking me? Through a medium that you know I love?”

The hurt in her voice is evident, and he stares at her, jaw dropped. Is that what she thought? That he was being vindictive? He reaches out, taking her hand lightly. She tries to pull away, but he stops her.

“Cassandra.” He leads her to a seat, reaching up to cup her face in his hands. He could say a thousand different things to assuage her fears, but they all sound contrite, so for once he settles for the simple truth. “I would _never_.”

She stares at him, the frown fading after a long moment. He smiles softly, letting go of her face. “I started writing to… forget. To help _you_ forget the crazy shit that surrounds us. And you are _quite_ the inspiration, Seeker. For what it’s worth,” he adds, “I hope you get the happy ending. You deserve it.” And he turns to leave.

Her hand grabs his shoulder, pulling him back round. She stares up at him, eyes pleading and lips parted in question. He does not quite understand what she wants from him -

\- and then he remembers a conversation from weeks ago, her asking him how the words came naturally to him. And he realises that she does not have the words for what she wants to say. He is more than a little terrified at what that might be.

But then she smiles – that rare smile that he has only ever seen once before, when he first presented her with the second installment of Swords and Shields, and he cannot help but smile back. And it feels strange, that spark of warmth in his stomach that he has not felt since Adamant and Hawke, but considering the alternative…

“Maybe this is something we should talk about somewhere more private,” he offers quietly, and she ducks her eyes in a way that makes his chest uncomfortably tight. She nods, and he wraps his fingers lightly around her hand, lifting it to press a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist. The blush that blooms across her face is a wonderful reward, and the smile that lights her up is the dawn of something new.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing is - and Varric knows that in a situation like this, things are rarely normal anyway - but the thing is, they do not hide it.

_Well_ , he amends mentally, _they’re not_ _ **exactly**_ _showing it off_ \- there are no sweeping declarations of love, no public displays, no flowers… he did not expect any of that. After all, with Bianca things had been so hidden that he had often wondered himself whether they were truly together.

But she smiles at him, and does not correct him when he calls her ‘Seeker’ - understanding, now, the affection behind the term. She sits with him in the quiet evenings, sometimes asking questions in that surprisingly soft tone she saves just for him. More often than not it is in companionable silence, her reading and him writing, and their bodies barely touching save for a head on a shoulder or a leg nudging a knee. And occasionally he will find her hand fitting into his without asking, and it warms him to know that despite everything, she is not ashamed.

He loves these times the most - her head in his lap as he reads excerpts from her favourite books, soft fingers reaching to entwine with his. Worth living for, he thinks.

"Varric?" Her voice is gentle, and he marvels at it.

"Yes, Seeker?"

"What will happen? When this is over?"

He hesitates, before carefully closing the book and putting it aside. He had considered the answer to that himself - after all, things were moving now, at an often-terrifying pace, and it was all they could do to keep up with the Inquisitor.

"I don’t know," he admits. "If we come out of this alive -"

"Which we _will_.”

He chuckles at her words, hand light against her hair. “Of course, we’re too damn stubborn to die. But things are… fragile, out there. A lot of messes still to clean up. Doesn’t leave much room for planning.”

"Kirkwall no doubt needs you."

"And you could be the next Divine, and we both know _that_ means no more adventures for the shield-maiden and the brigand.”

"Nothing is set in stone. Leliana could be -"

"Seeker."

"I am right," she insists, before letting out a sigh. "As are you."

"I know that pains you to say," he drawls, and she pulls a face. "I’m just being practical."

"I do not _want_ practical, Varric.” She sits up, finding his fingers and squeezing lightly. “I want… the impossible. The poetic version. The happy ending.” She ducks her eyes, the blush evident even in the light of the dying fire. “I want to live, knowing I am loved.”

He smiles, one finger gently tipping her head to face him. “But you already _have_ that,” he murmurs. Her eyes widen, and he presses his lips to hers before she can speak. “I don’t say it often, and I _never_ say it lightly,” he adds, resting his forehead against hers, “but I would say it as often as you needed to hear it, if that’s what you want.”

"Varric…"

"I love you, Seeker."

“This… this is not how…” She stammers, pulling away and running a hand over her hair before looking back to him with a strange look in her eyes. “I should go.”

“Seeker, what -”

She steals a kiss before leaving, and Varric is left unsettled and empty.

 

*

She avoids him for the rest of the day, and he is almost certain that it is over, but for the Inquisitor’s insistence that yes, Cassandra _was_ an idiot at times, but that it was worth holding out for. Varric disagrees, albeit reluctantly, and nobody is fooled.

In the end she comes to him. It takes her an age to speak, and it is short-lived.

"Here." She thrusts papers at him. "I… wrote this."

And then it clicks, that expression on her face. He _had_ seen it, a million times from people who wanted his opinion on their work – it was fear. But before he can reassure her - and himself - she vanishes from the hall.

He swallows, concerned by her erratic behaviour, before turning his attention to the page. The frantic scribble was nothing like her usual neat handwriting, but his worries are somewhat quashed by the smudged lipstick print over his name.

 

_Dear Varric,_

_~~Once upon a time~~ ~~It was a dark and stormy~~_

_I admire you, Varric. I have written many reports, in my lifetime, but the biggest challenge of my life is to write something that is not boring. The words run away, like you often did from me. How long ago that all seems! I am glad things are different now – I am more than just glad._

_I have always assumed certain things were required to sweep me off my feet – candles, flowers, poetry – I am in some ways quite traditional. I did not expect that it would happen here, in the middle of this chaos. I did not think it would happen like this. I did not expect you._

_I understand love very well. It is powerful and it takes many forms – I loved Justinia, and I love the Inquisition, and I love your books, and all of these are different to the love I feel when I think about you. It is like a fire – it consumes me and it warms me._

_I love you. To write these words and to know that you will read them makes me both terrified and overjoyed. They seem so simple, on the page – three short words, nothing like the things you write and yet -_

_I have loved only one other like this in my life. He is dead now – taken in the explosion at the Conclave. He was a good man, like you. I do not know what will come, but I will not let them take you. I will not let them end our story before the final pages._

_We will make our own happy ending._

_-C._

  
  


*

He finds her in the barracks, pacing the room.

"You… you have read it?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but the moment fails him. Between the painstaking handwriting and the terrified look on her face, the enormity of her feelings rests in his chest and his throat all but gives out. All he can do is nod, staring up at her as if she were the sun and he the moon. His silence clearly unnerves her, her wringing hands dropping as she frowns.

"Varric -"

But he is quick, sliding a leg underneath her and sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. She lets out a soft gasp, hands tight on the collar of his duster, and he does not give her time to notice the moisture in his eyes, the silence that has consumed him – he simply gives her a kiss, lingering and heartfelt and breathless, and hopes it says enough.

She breaks the moment, staring at him in wonder. “You? Speechless? Truly?” A wry smile creeps onto her face. “I never thought I would live to see the day.”

He groans. “ _Maker_ , Seeker, you’re killing me here. I thought you’d…”

"Oh! Oh, Varric, never…" She rests her head against his. "I just wanted to find the words, to… to get it right. For you."

"Well, I see that _now_ ,” he laughs, “but you could have given me a heads-up!”

“Was it… alright?”

He pulls back to look up at her, smile gentle. “Perfect.” Her smile blossoms and he cannot stop himself from saying the words once more. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Her lips quirk into a smirk. “But do not get used to hearing it. I do not say such things often, and never lightly…”

“So romantic,” he drawls. “Well, I know we don’t exactly have flowers or candles, and the only poetry I know is a dirty limerick… but I can definitely manage the actual sweeping part on a regular basis.”

“I would suggest keeping any and all sweeping to a minimum. Dorian has already made it very clear that he will throw up if he has to watch us do anything… cute.”

“Well, they do say that sweeping is bad…” he offers, that shit-eating grin spreading across his face. She rolls her eyes, making that noise with her throat that on any other day would signify disgust – today it simply shows mild annoyance, which is something of an improvement. He hoists her up into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to find more privacy.

“Varric!” She flails in his arms, though the effort to squirm in his arms is clearly more for his benefit. He chuckles, nipping at her neck and earning a gasp that does things to his groin.

“Just setting the mood, Seeker. No candles, no flowers… let me start on that poem. There once was a Templar in Ostwick,” he begins, kissing her between each line and savouring each laugh whilst his hands make light work of her armour, and somewhere between the limericks and the bed the laughter is interspersed with soft moans and both sound divine to his ears as he makes slow love to her.


End file.
